The Spirit Stone

‘Ah, there you are!’ Cadryc called to him. ‘Messages from Prince Dar, I’ll wager!’

‘They are, your grace,’ the Westfolk man said. ‘My name is Maelaber, by the by, and I’m Calonderiel’s son.’

Aha! Branna thought. That’s why he looks familiar.

‘Then twice welcome, lad,’ Cadryc said.

‘My thanks. We’ve also come to lead your army to our muster. It’s too easy for Deverry men to get lost out in the grasslands.’

‘Now that’s true spoken.’ Cadryc paused for a smile. ‘It gladdens my heart to have you with us. Your prince is a far-sighted man.’

‘He is that, your grace. I’ve also got a gift for Lady Branna. Councillor Dallandra sent it.’ Maelaber opened one of the saddlebags and brought out a large bundle wrapped in thick grey cloth and stoutly tied with leather thongs. ‘Books, I think. She didn’t tell us.’

Courtesy demanded that Branna sit quietly until the tieryn gave her the parcel, but curiosity trounced courtesy. Despite her aunt’s dark looks, she got up and ran around the table to snatch the parcel out of Maelaber’s hands.

‘My thanks,’ she said with a grin. ‘I’ll just take these upstairs.’

Branna avoided looking Galla’s way as she dashed for the staircase, but she did notice Neb scowling at her – but not for her lack of good manners, she was sure. As the tieryn’s scribe, he was going to have to stay at his lord’s side until Cadryc gave him leave to go. His curiosity would have to wait.

Up in their chamber, she laid the parcel onto the bed, then flung open the shutters over the window to let in the sunlight. A few slashes with her table dagger disposed of the thongs. She unwound the cloth to find two leather-bound books and a scrap of pale leather bearing a note from Dallandra.

‘These belonged to Jill and Nevyn,’ the note read. ‘They should therefore belong to you. Study them well while the army’s gone, especially the larger one. Someday you’ll need to carry all this lore in your memory.’

Branna laid the note down and pulled the larger book free of the wrap to lay it right onto the bed, despite the smell of ancient damp from its dark leather binding. It was far too large for her to hold, taller than her forearm was long. When she opened it, the smell of mouldy parchment made her sneeze. She wiped her nose on her sleeve, then saw, written on the first leaf, Nevyn’s name. With that sight memory flooded back. She could see the old man opening the book and pointing to a diagram of concentric circles marked by words that, in the memory, she couldn’t yet read.

Jill never learned her letters until she was grown, Branna thought. Nevyn taught her. Tears blurred her sight, sudden hot tears that shocked her as they spilled. If only Nevyn were alive now, with his vast knowledge, if only he were here – but of course, he was there, opening the door to the chamber, in fact, though he was now as young and ignorant and as nearly powerless as she.

‘What’s wrong?’ Neb said. ‘Ye gods, that thing stinks!’

‘It does.’ Branna pulled a handkerchief from her kirtle. ‘It’s made me sneeze, and my poor eyes!’

While she wiped her face and blew her nose, he turned a few pages of the book. He frowned a little, mouthed a few words, then suddenly smiled.

‘I remember this,’ he said. ‘Do you?’

‘I do. You told me once you’d owned it since you were a very young man.’

Neb looked up, his lips half-parted in shock.

‘I mean,’ Branna said hastily, ‘Nevyn told Jill that.’

‘I figured that. It just always surprises me, how much you remember.’

‘Me too. What’s this second one?’

The smaller book turned out to contain healing lore, first a treatise on the humours, then a vast compendium, page after page of herbs, roots, symptoms, and treatments, and finally some instructions for simple chirurgery. The handwriting wavered, each letter spiky and oddly large.

‘Jill’s writing,’ Neb said abruptly. ‘I do remember a few things, here and there. She learned late, you see, and so her hand’s somewhat childish.’

‘I feel like there’s four people in this chamber. Do you feel that, too?’

‘In a way.’ Neb glanced over his shoulder as if he expected to see Jill and Nevyn standing behind them. ‘It creeps my flesh.’

Branna closed the book of medicines and walked over to the window. Outside lay the familiar view of her uncle’s dun wall and the green fields beyond. She’d half-expected to see a different prospect, though the details had escaped her memory. Somewhere I’ve never been, she thought, not as me, anyway. Did I know the silver dragon when I was there? Ever since she’d seen Rori fly past Cengarn, the silver wyrm had never been far from her mind.

‘What were Prince Dar’s messages?’ she said.

‘Um? Jill, what did you say?’

Neb was reading a page in the larger book. He was leaning over to peer at the writing, his shoulders hunched like those of a much older man. Again she remembered seeing Nevyn reading in this same book, sitting at a rough-made table with a dweomer light hovering above him. For a moment she saw their surroundings: a windowless stone room, and at the top of the walls ran a carving of circles and triangles, abruptly broken off as if someone had deliberately defaced it. Stop! she told herself. You’re Branna; Branna, not Jill.

‘Neb, stay here!’ Branna made her voice as sharp as she could. ‘What were Prince Dar’s messages?’

With a toss of his head Neb straightened up and turned to face her. ‘You’re right,’ he said softly. ‘For a moment I was back there. What did you used to call it? The other When?’

‘Just that. But we’re here now.’

‘So we are. That’s going to be our spell of safety, isn’t it? Stay here now.’

‘It’s a good one. We’ll need it.’

Neb smiled, nodding a little. ‘But the messages,’ he went on, ‘were all about the army. He’s raised over five hundred archers and a good many swordsmen. He’s hoping to raise more before we join him.’

‘We? You’re not riding with the Red Wolf warband, are you?’

‘Of course I am. My place is at the tieryn’s side.’

For a moment she could barely breathe. Neb caught her hand in both of his.

‘What’s wrong –’ he began.

‘I’m terrified you’ll get killed, of course,’ Branna said. ‘Why does he want you to go?’

‘To write messages if he needs some sent, of course.’

‘Very well, then, but you won’t be riding to battle, will you?’

‘I won’t. Will you look down on me because of that?’

‘Oh, don’t be stupid!’

Neb grinned. ‘I’d be useless in a battle, unless they need someone who can throw stones with a fair degree of accuracy. I used to be good at slinging them at crows and squirrels.’

They shared a laugh, and she felt the fear leave her.

‘After all,’ Branna said, ‘you are my husband now. I get to worry. You’re supposed to be touched by my devotion.’

‘That’s true spoken, and my apologies.’ Neb made a sweeping bow. ‘May I express my complete and total devotion to you?’

‘You may. How about the passion that burns within you?’

‘That, too. Quite a lot of that, actually. Do you regard me with great esteem?’

‘I do, and with affection to match it.’

‘Well and good, then. Give me a bit of time, and I’ll compose some englynion in your honour.’

‘That’d be lovely, but what is this? I’m supposed to sit at my window with the scroll in my lap and long for your return? Huh. I’m going with you.’

‘What? You can’t do that!’

‘Why not? I’ll be your assistant. I can gather rushes for pens and all that. It’s not like anyone would be asking me to swing a sword, is it?’ Branna thought for a moment. ‘And I can tear up rags for bandages and help Dalla.’

‘Your uncle won’t let you come.’

‘Then we shan’t tell him until it’s too late.’ She laid a hand on his arm and smiled up at him. ‘Don’t you want me there?’

‘Of course I do. I mean – gods, I never should have admitted that.’

‘True spoken. You shouldn’t have, but you did, and so let’s plan my escape.’

‘What about your aunt?’

‘She’s got Adranna and the children, and Solla now, too. She won’t be lonely any longer.’

‘There are times when I can see that being married to you is going to be like living in one of Salamander’s tales. And I’m thankful to every god there is.’ Neb raised her hand and kissed her fingers.

Someone knocked in urgent rhythm on the door. Neb ran to open it and reveal Salamander, who strode in without waiting to be asked. The gerthddyn frowned and looked Branna over with stern grey eyes.

‘What is this?’ Salamander said. ‘I’ve just had an omen warning about you, my fine lady. You’re not planning on doing anything stupid like following the army, are you?’

‘What makes you think I’d do such a thing?’

‘Your general temperament, mostly, as well as the way you blushed scarlet just now.’

‘I hate you.’

‘Ah, so I’m right.’

‘I cannot let Neb go off to war while I stay here, I just can’t.’

‘What?’ Salamander turned to Neb. ‘You’re riding with the army?’

‘I’m the tieryn’s scribe,’ Neb said. ‘He wants me there.’

‘That is profoundly short-sighted, risky, and altogether foolish of his grace, but since he’s a Deverry lord, I’m not surprised in the least. Isn’t Ridvar bringing a scribe?’

‘He is,’ Neb said, ‘but Cadryc can’t possibly ask for the use of him. Have you forgotten his grandson, Matto? Ridvar did want him killed.’

Salamander said something in Elvish that sounded immensely foul, though Branna had no idea of what it meant. ‘Well, I can read and write.’ Salamander switched back to Deverrian. ‘I’m not much for scribing, Neb, but if you packed me up some inks and pens, I could do a passable job, and Dar’s scribe will be riding with us as well.’

‘But it’s my duty to –’

‘Hang duty! Neb, you and Branna both are far too valuable to risk your lives in a dangerous venture like the one we have in hand. Don’t you understand? Your dweomer is the hope of the border.’

Branna turned away, saw the books lying on the bed, and turned back again. Her heart was pounding as badly as if she’d run a long way.

‘I see.’ Neb, however, sounded perfectly calm. ‘What I can’t see is how to explain that to the tieryn.’

‘Imph,’ Salamander said. ‘No more can I, but it has to be done. I’ll consult with Gerran.’

‘Does he know?’ Branna turned back. ‘Gerro, I mean.’

‘He does, if you mean about dweomer and Neb having it,’ Salamander said. ‘And he suspects it about you. He doesn’t know the bit about the hope of the border and all that. Think! Even if we wipe Zakh Gral off the face of the earth, this is only the first skirmish in a long war. Do you think the Horsekin are going to go meekly back to their own lands and stay there if they lose?’

‘I see your point,’ Neb said. ‘The more dweomermasters we can muster, the better.’

‘It’s the best weapon we have against them,’ Salamander said. ‘We’ve got some days before Voran and Ridvar arrive. I’m bound to come up with a good tale for the tieryn’s ears before then.’ He paused for a sunny grin. ‘I’m good at tales.’

Whenever the tieryn left the great hall, Gerran went back to his old place at one of the warband’s tables. He had the only chair, and he liked to lean it back on its rear legs to allow him to put his feet up on one of the benches. He was just starting on his first tankard of ale for the day when Salamander came trotting down the stone staircase. The gerthddyn hailed him and hurried over.

‘I need your advice on somewhat,’ Salamander said. ‘May I join you?’

‘By all means. Fetch yourself some drink.’

Salamander found a tankard and filled it from the barrel over by the servants’ hearth, then sat down on the bench not occupied by Gerran’s boots.

‘It concerns Neb the scribe,’ Salamander said. ‘He tells me he’ll be riding with the army. He shouldn’t. He needs to be here in the dun. The fortguard can’t keep watch against certain kinds of danger, but he can, if you take my meaning.’

‘I do.’ Gerran had a long swallow of ale. ‘Not that I like thinking about it.’

‘I realize that.’ Salamander paused for a nervous glance around, but none of the servants were in earshot. ‘I can take his place, if our good tieryn will let him stay behind. But I need a tale that will convince Cadryc, some clever ploy, some magnificent obfuscation, a lie, in short, since I can’t tell him the truth.’

‘There’s no need to pile up horseshit.’ Gerran set his tankard down. ‘You’re not inventing a tale for the marketplace.’

‘Well, what else can I do?’

‘Leave it to me. I’ll go speak to his grace right now.’

Gerran found Tieryn Cadryc out in the stables, where he and the head groom were making an important decision: which horses the warband would take to Zakh Gral. Gerran waited for a lull in their talk.

‘Your grace?’ Gerran said. ‘A private word with you?’

‘Of course.’ Cadryc nodded at the groom. ‘I’ll be back straightaway.’

They walked across the kitchen garden and out to the curve of the dun wall, where no one could overhear.

‘What’s all this, Gerro?’ Cadryc said.

‘Your grace, do you trust me?’

‘What? Of course I do!’

‘And do you trust my judgment? You don’t think me daft or suchlike, do you?’

‘Of course not! Gerro –’

‘Then grant me a daft-sounding boon on my word alone. Neb the scribe should stay here when we ride out.’

For a long moment Cadryc stared at him narrow-eyed. ‘On your word alone? No explanation?’

‘None, your grace.’

Cadryc shrugged and smiled. ‘Done, then,’ he said. ‘It’s an easy enough boon to grant, eh? I can always ask Prince Dar’s scribe if I need a message written or suchlike.’

‘Better yet, Salamander can read and write. Neb can give him what he needs for the job.’

‘Well, there you are, then. Easy and twice easy.’

Cadryc went back to the stables, and Gerran started for the broch. He took a shortcut through the kitchen garden, then realized that someone was lurking behind the cook’s little gardening shed. He could guess who it was.

‘Come out, gerthddyn,’ Gerran said wearily. ‘I should have known you’d be eavesdropping.’

‘Think of all the effort I’ve saved you.’ Salamander strolled over to join him. ‘This way you won’t have to tell me what our noble tieryn said. My thanks, by the way. You were quite right. We didn’t need the pile of horseshit. I’ll just go tell Neb that the matter’s settled.’

Salamander trotted off with a cheerful wave. As Gerran followed, he happened to glance up. Far above the dun the black dragon floated on the summer breeze. Although he didn’t know where Arzosah was lairing, at various times during the day this strangest of all possible allies would appear, keeping watch over the dun. She’d take a turn or two over it at night, as well, when she was on her way to hunt down a wild meal. Gerran was never sure if her presence was comforting or terrifying. As long as she doesn’t scare the horses, he thought. With a shrug he went inside to join the warband.

‘Well, it gladdens my heart to have that settled,’ Branna said. ‘I feel horribly selfish, though. I’m just so happy that Neb will be staying here safe in the dun.’

‘Why not be happy?’ Salamander gave her one of his sunny grins. ‘Life is short, so grasp what joy it gives you. As to safe, I hope you both will be, but you’ll need to be on your guard.’

‘Because of the raven mazrak?’

‘Precisely. He may not know who you specifically are, but dweomer can always smell out dweomer. He must know you have it, and that therefore you’re a potential thorn in his feathered side.’

‘Let’s hope I can be a dagger, not a thorn.’

‘Someday, mayhap, but not now.’ Salamander’s voice dropped to a cold seriousness. ‘Never challenge him. Merely watch. He’s got a hundred times the power you do.’

‘Well and good, then. Will Arzosah be carrying messages back and forth? I can always send you one if I see him.’

‘Alas, I doubt it. We’ll need the dragons with the army.’

‘Rori will be there, too?’

‘Oh, of course. He never was the sort of man you could keep out of a good fight.’

Branna felt that she should know exactly what he meant, but the memories eluded her. She was about to ask more, but she heard voices behind her. They were standing just inside the honour door of the great hall, which was beginning to fill up for the evening meal. When she glanced over her shoulder she saw Aunt Galla and her daughter Adranna walking towards them. She stepped aside to let them enter. As they passed, Salamander bowed to both women. Galla favoured him with a smile and a wave of her hand, but Adranna strode on by with her mouth set in a thin line and poison in her eyes.

‘Alas,’ Salamander said. ‘I fear me your cousin will never forgive me. Truly, if I were her I wouldn’t forgive me, either. My heart aches for her loss.’

‘She’s better off without Honelg,’ Branna said. ‘So are the children.’

‘No doubt, but it must be hard on a woman to return a widow to her father’s dun.’

‘Little do you know how true that is! She and Galla squabble all the time.’

‘That must be unpleasant.’

‘It is, but at least she’s here to help with the spinning.’ Branna reflexively rubbed her right wrist with her left hand. ‘The more women the better for that. It’s so tedious.’

While they waited for the gwerbret’s army to ride in, Branna had been spending as much time as she possibly could with her cousin. During their long talks, Adranna occasionally discussed her dead husband and even wept for him, briefly and now and then, but the loss she felt most keenly was nothing so domestic as lord and dun. That evening they left the dinner table early and went up to the women’s hall, where they pulled their chairs over to a window and the cooler air.

‘You don’t know what it’s like, Branni,’ Adranna said. ‘Being part of a clan of believers, I mean. That’s how we thought of ourselves, as kin and clan, Alshandra’s people all, whether we were farmers or noble-born.’

‘I feel that way when we go to the Moon temple on the feast days and suchlike.’

‘Oh, that!’ Adranna tossed her head. ‘That’s just tradition. Alshandra is real. You can feel her presence. Our lady’s different, truly she is.’

‘How can she be? All goddesses are one goddess.’

‘That’s what the priestesses of the Moon say, but why should we believe them?’

Branna decided to ignore the question. ‘Alshandra certainly could be a new aspect of the goddess,’ she went on, ‘but all that talk of Vandar’s spawn and the like – that sounds like the Horsekin men to me, making up a new excuse to start wars and conquer other people’s land.’

‘I have to admit that it sounded that way to me, too, especially the bit about Vandar’s spawn. They do want pasture for their horses, the Horsekin men. The ones that visited us, they practically came right out and said so, but well, I thought maybe Alshandra wants them to live on the grasslands.’

‘Grasslands, perchance, somewhere or other. I wouldn’t wager high on it. Goddesses don’t draw up boundary maps like a village priest, deciding which son gets what when a farmer dies.’

At that Adranna managed to smile.

‘Besides,’ Branna said, ‘why would your goddess want the Westfolk destroyed? She –’

‘Hold a moment!’ Adranna leaned forward in her chair. ‘The Westfolk? I never heard anything against the Westfolk.’

‘But that’s who Vandar’s spawn are, according to the Horsekin leaders. Salamander told me about it. The Westfolk lands are the ones they want for themselves.’

‘That can’t be true!’

‘It is true. Ask Salamander if you don’t believe me.’

‘And why would I believe one word that lying viper says?’

‘Well, why would he make that up? He only lies when he’s got a good reason. He told me that he heard it from the priestess Rocca.’

‘Still –’

‘Besides, Dallandra told me the same thing. Would she lie?’

‘She wouldn’t.’ Adranna whispered, and her hands tightened on the arms of her chair. ‘But that’s a horrible idea.’

‘I rather thought so myself.’

Adranna suddenly noticed, or so it seemed, that she was clutching the wood so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. She let go with a sharp sigh and let her hands rest in her lap. Branna waited for some little while to give her a chance to think things over.

‘From everything I’ve heard,’ Branna went on, ‘I’d say that the Alshandra cult modelled her on Aranrodda. And Aranrodda’s an aspect of the one true goddess, isn’t she?’

‘She is, truly.’

‘Well, then. Wouldn’t that mean Alshandra’s an aspect herself?’

‘Oh. I’d not thought of it that way, but –’

Branna waited. Adranna sighed, leaning back in her chair, her face so uncharacteristically thin and drawn, pale against her dark hair, that Branna nearly wept from looking at her.

‘You’re exhausted, cousin,’ Branna said. ‘There’s no need to go on talking now.’

‘My thanks.’ Adranna managed a faint smile. ‘We’ll have lots of time to talk while the men are gone to war. That’s one good thing to come out of this, I suppose.’

‘So we will, truly.’

‘There’s another good thing,’ Adranna continued. ‘You know, the worst thing about living with Honelg was being terrified. Not of him, so much, though he did have that awful temper, but because of Alshandra. I was always afraid that someone would find us out and tell the priests or the gwerbret. I got so tired of being frightened. Every time someone rode up to the dun, I’d tremble until I found out who it was. I really would, Branni. I couldn’t hold a cup of water steady for the trembling. Now the worst has happened and been done with, and the children are safe. I don’t much care what happens to me any more, but I prayed and prayed that my children would be safe. So, at least the fear’s over now.’

Branna just managed to stop herself from blurting out the truth: the real time of fear had just begun.

Whenever Arzosah wanted to speak with Salamander, she would wait till evening, when the grooms had stabled the horses, safe from the panic her presence would cause. Normally she would fly low over the dun until he noticed, then go land in the meadow just below the motte upon which the dun stood. That particular evening, however, she landed directly on the flat roof of the broch. Salamander, who was up in his top-floor chamber, felt the tower shake as if in a high wind. Out in the ward several maidservants screamed.

‘That must be the dragon,’ he remarked aloud. ‘I’d best go see what she wants.’

He climbed the ladder standing in the corridor outside and shoved open the trap door. In the hot, humid night, the vinegar scent of great wyrm nearly made him choke. He swung himself onto the roof from the ladder’s last rung, then stood up to bow to her. He could see her raise her enormous head in silhouette against the stars.

‘And a good eve to you, oh perfect paragon of dragonhood,’ Salamander said in Elvish.

‘My, you do know how to flatter a lady.’ Arzosah made the rumbling sound that signalled amusement. ‘Even minstrels have their uses, I see.’

‘And such as my poor skills are, they’re at your disposal.’

‘Good. I need to know if the dun will be safe if I leave. I have to search for Rori. He was supposed to meet me here, and he’s never arrived.’

‘That’s true. He hasn’t. I hope no harm’s befallen him.’

‘I doubt that very much, since only another dragon could possibly harm him. No, I’m sure he’s merely being an utter dolt about facing you and Dallandra.’

‘Can’t Dalla summon him?’

‘No, and all because he’s not a true dragon in his soul. When she calls out his true name, he can feel the summons in the dragonish way, but it lacks power over him. He’s been ignoring her.’ Arzosah clacked her massive jaws. ‘He can be infuriating.’

‘You have to understand,’ Salamander said, ‘that it’s a hard thing being caught between two peoples. I’ve spent my whole life that way, and I know.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ Arzosah considered this for a moment. ‘I can see the difficulties Rori goes through. But the worst of them is that it makes so much trouble for me.’

‘A terrible thing, truly. Well, once you’ve found him, why don’t you join Dallandra out on the grasslands? I doubt if we’re in any danger here, not from armed enemies, at any rate.’

‘Good. I’ll do that.’ She started to spread her wings, then folded them back again. ‘You know, you’d best be off the roof before I fly. I’d hate to knock you off it.’

‘I’d hate it even more. Good hunting, and I’ll see you when we join up with Daralanteriel’s army.’

Salamander climbed partway down the ladder, then shut the trap door. Just as he reached the safety of the corridor below, he heard her fly off in a great rush of wings like drumbeats.

Since his chamber was stifling in the summer heat, Salamander decided to take a turn around the ward in the cooler air before he tried to sleep. When he reached the bottom of the staircase, he discovered that half the dun was doing the same thing, noble-born as well as commoners. Bright points of lantern light danced around the dark ward and glittered here and there up on the catwalks. He could hear men’s cajoling voices, speaking softly, and the giggling of serving lasses in return.

Off to one side Gerran stood talking with Lady Solla. In the light of the lantern he carried, his copper-red hair gleamed like the metal itself. Neb and Branna were strolling along arm-in-arm with Adranna’s two children trailing after. A crowd of Wildfolk danced around them, led by Branna’s skinny grey gnome, and Neb’s fat yellow one. A gaggle of crystalline sprites flew above. When Salamander stopped to greet them, Trenni gave him a pleasant ‘good evening’, but Matto turned his head away and ostentatiously spit on the cobbles. The Wildfolk vanished.

‘Let’s go inside,’ Branna said firmly. ‘Trenni, you too. It’s time for bed.’

She grabbed a child by the arm with each hand and hurried them into the broch. Neb, however, lingered outside with Salamander. They wandered around the back of the broch and stood in a patch of candlelight falling through a window.

‘Do you think that Matto will ever forgive me?’ Salamander said. ‘I’m afraid I had a great deal to do with his father’s death.’

‘I’m not so sure it’s that,’ Neb said. ‘More like, he blames you for losing him his home and making his mother so unhappy. Honelg lost every bit of the lad’s loyalty when he tried to kill him. Trenni outright hated her father, and I think me our Matto’s coming round to her way of thinking.’

‘I see. That’s truly sad in its own way.’

‘It is. It came as a shock to me. And yet, it’s odd, but Matto still feels he should hate you and Gerran, too, for the killing of his father.’ Neb shook his head. ‘I doubt if I’ll ever truly understand the noble-born.

‘Me either. On the other hand, though my own father and I have our difficulties, if someone killed him, I’d feel the need to bring them to the prince’s justice at the very least.’

‘My father and I never had any difficulties. I miss him still, but half the people in our town died from that plague. I can’t consider myself singled out for grief or suchlike.’

‘Truly. A natural affliction knows neither feud nor honour.’

‘Of course, the local priests denied that it was any such thing. They told us that Great Bel was angry. They wanted us to find white horses for sacrifice.’

‘If it happens again, we know where to find white cows – or won’t cattle do?’

‘They won’t. Bel demands horses, but – here, wait!’ Neb held up one hand. ‘I just thought of somewhat. I –’ He hesitated, visibly thinking.

Salamander held his tongue. Neb’s expression of intense concentration had made him seem suddenly older, far stronger. More Nevyn-like, Salamander thought. I wonder if a memory’s trying to rise?

‘That plague,’ Neb said slowly. ‘What if it wasn’t Bel’s doing nor a natural thing? At the time, I didn’t know one cursed thing about the Westfolk and their history. I didn’t know about dark dweomer, either. But I do now, and I wonder if someone brought sickness to town, like. It happened so suddenly, and the weather was warm. There’d been a big market fair in town, and there were a goodly number of strangers come for it.’

‘I wonder, too. How do the Westfolk come into it?’

‘They don’t, exactly, but the ancient plague on the Horsekin does. From what you’ve told me, it gripped their bowels and caused the same kind of bloody flux as –’ Neb paused to swallow heavily, summoning courage, ‘as I saw. Everything about it sounds the same. If some of it still lurked in that Horsekin city you told me about, and if someone had been there and caught it, and then come to Trev Hael for some reason, well?’

‘Indeed! I’m going to tell Dalla about this idea of yours.’

‘Good. Now, the town herbwoman decided that since it produced an excess of the watery humour, the fiery humour must be its natural enemy. So she had everyone roasting their food and boiling their well water. When someone died, we burned their blankets and clothing, too. And you know, it did seem to stop the spread of it.’

‘That’s most interesting. I’ll tell Dalla that, too.’

‘It was a horrible time.’ Neb shuddered and looked away. ‘I’ve not wanted to think about it before this, but truly, it’s important, isn’t it? I’ve got this feeling that I need to remember it. Huh, you know, when Clae and I were orphaned, priests of Bel brought us west. They were going to a temple north of Cengarn, but one of them was willing to take us as far as the Great West Road first. There’s only one temple north of Cengarn that I know of.’

‘Ye gods!’ Salamander’s voice caught. He coughed and spat onto the ground. ‘My apologies, but hearing you say that seems to have clotted my throat right up with omens.’

Salamander hurried up to the privacy of his chamber. He sat on the wide ledge of the unglazed window and looked out at the points of lantern light gleaming in the ward far below. When he thought of Dallandra, her image built up quickly in his mind. She was apparently sitting under a dweomer light of her own making, because a cool silver glow fell across her. With her ash-blonde hair and steel-grey eyes, she seemed made of pure silver like a creature of the moon’s sphere.